


The Echo of Memories

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: 4x12 - Freeform, AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Casskins, Casskins kiss we wanted but never got, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Season/Series 04, The Echoes of Memory, married Cassandra/Jenkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: A sort of fix-it fic for Casskins fans who wanted a more Casskins-y ending to "The Echoes of Memory".





	The Echo of Memories

“CASSANDRA!”

Jenkins screams her name as his eyes snap open and he gasps harshly for breath. His face pale and whisper damp with perspiration, he looks around wildly for the young redheaded Librarian. He finds her standing right behind Colonel Baird and Mr. Carsen, who are seated across the small table from him. Their expressions are of sympathy and remembered heartache, though on Cassandra’s grief-blanched face is an expression of complete devastation. Unshed tears shine in all of their eyes. Sitting in front of Jenkins, in the middle of the tabletop, is the Lamp of Memory that once belonged to the ancient Greek Titaness, Mnemosyne. A powerful artifact that ruthlessly brings memories back, no matter how deeply they are buried nor how long they have been forgotten. The weak flame burns low in the lamp, then, its work done, gutters out completely.

The old Caretaker is the last to look into the flame of the lamp and see for himself the events of the last several weeks that occurred in the alternate timeline Baird and Carsen has told all of them about. Jenkins wasn’t sure why he waited to be the last one to gaze into the lamp’s magic flame, but something told him that these memories were going to be painful and harsh. He’s not one to flinch from danger or pain ordinarily, but for some reason he knows that this is going to be something very different. And he’s right.

His glazed eyes lock onto Cassandra’s. Her clear blue ones are full of tears, her face crumpling into a grimace of remembered loss and despair. Immediately Jenkins is out of his chair and rushing to her, his own eyes rapidly filling with hot tears, a large, painful lump choking his throat. She rushes to meet him, and he throws his long arms around the petite woman, drawing her into a crushing bear hug, sobs breaking free from them both unchecked, wracking them as he holds his beloved as fiercely as he can. Neither of them even tries to speak, they simply clutch at each other, too overcome by grief, fear, relief, love.

The newly acquired memories continue to replay in his mind as he holds Cassandra. Some of the memories are only disjointed scraps and single images—random faces, scenes, words. Mr. Carsen had explained that these memories were echoes of incidents that had not happened yet in this timeline, but would happen in the future. Some of the bits no longer held any meaning whatsoever, they were merely flotsam on the eddies of the old timeline. Still viable or not, all of these scraps of memory puzzled and intrigued Jenkins. Old movies. Las Vegas. A pinecone. A toaster. A trip to a beach. Christmas sweaters. Cassandra leaving the Library?? A pink slip. A loud, obnoxious song about getting ‘booms’. A tray laden with tea and small cups of jello. Mr. Dare?! Dancing. Rasputin. The Westphalian Brothers. Grocery shopping. High tea—in the Annex? What is ‘DragonHeap’?

Other memories are longer, more complete, more detailed, and utterly terrifying. Entire scenes playing out in his memory like short, brutal films. These are the memories, according to Mr. Carsen, of things that HAD happened in the other timeline, but which are now negated by Eve and Flynn’s unexpected tethering on the day of what was only supposed to be a rehearsal. These echoes cannot happen now, he assures them, and there being no danger of changing the future, it is safe to allow Jenkins to remember them clearly. Safe, perhaps, but not pleasant or enjoyable.

An immortal Nicole Noone, locked in the Library dungeon for a century for crimes against the Library. Her release—against Jenkins’s dire warnings—her rampage of vengeance and retribution against the Library and the Librarians, against Jenkins, centuries in the planning. All because Mr. Carsen had not come to her rescue after an accident with a time machine threw her five hundred years into the past. She tricks them into finding Koschi’s Needle; somehow he knows now that it was a ruse. She actually allows herself to be stabbed with it, the only weapon known to have the ability to kill immortals outright. Her horrifying lust for revenge is so great that she risks her very life in order to trick HIM. She uses his knightly sense of justice and fairness against him, tricks Jenkins into giving up his—what? His... _immortality_! He sacrifices his immortality, to Miss Noone, in order to save her. His head spins at the knowledge: He has actually become mortal!

And how utterly frightening that time is! He experiences hunger, thirst, exhaustion. His eyesight begins to fail. He’s never felt so weak, so vulnerable, so fragile, in well over a millennium. He’s actually gotten sick, in an age when he has no natural immunity to any of the thousands of maladies that have developed and thrived over the last thousand years. He realizes that a simple, common cold could literally kill him!

He’s terrified, and so disoriented in the first few days, he’s afraid to even leave his rooms. But it was in a noble cause; he’s come to comfort himself with that idea, even if it was a trick. He gave up his immortality in good faith to save another’s life. And, he has to admit, that there have been times in the past when he has envied mortals their ability to die, to finally leave behind all of the pain and sadness that plagues this world, to finally rest. There is so much evil and cruelty in the world, so many bad people in it, and it only seems to grow worse with each passing year.

Even so, he isn’t ready for death just yet, but knowing that his life now has a definite ending that will come sooner rather than later quickly makes him realize that he has to make the most of every day he has left to him, to appreciate the goodness to be found in it, the people and relationships that make it tolerable, even pleasant. There is no room in his life now for negativity, bitterness or regret.

Mr. Carsen resigned his post and has left the Library! There is no one to tether with Colonel Baird now! The Library is in danger; the others can’t decide who will take Mr. Carsen’s place. They waste weeks of time trying to decide, despite his urgent pleading. Then the alarm goes off, signaling the Tethering Equinox—they are too late! The Library reverts back to its untethered, inhuman, mercenary state. It has pulled him through the magic mirror, takes Jenkins over. He learns that Cassandra opened the First Book! No, Cassandra! His consciousness is bound within his own body, and he is forced to watch helplessly as the Library uses his physical body to communicate directly with the Librarians and Colonel Baird. His MORTAL body. The Harness of Mahakali, the dagger poised over his now vulnerable heart, forcing them—by using their love for Jenkins against them—to live out their worst fears and nightmares, to do combat to the death with each other; he knows that Cassandra loves him and would do anything to protect him, but he had no idea until now that the others felt so strongly about him. WHY hadn’t he seen it before now?

The dreaded Trial of the One. How has he let things get this far, this desperate!? He is the Caretaker, he should have never let the situation become so out of control! Why had he left the First Book where Cassandra could get to it—he knows how insatiably curious she is! He knows that she would never be able to resist opening it and reading the contents! Now he is forced to watch them try to kill each other, forced to listen to Colonel Baird beg for their lives on her knees before him. All because of him and his carelessness. It’s more than Jenkins can bear.

But Colonel Baird is strong, clever. She is a true Guardian in every sense of the word, she has freed herself of the spell cast by the nightmare ring, she has found a way to help her charges, to free them from the brutality of the Trial. She has found a way to free HIM from the Library’s possession, free him from the threat of death. She has found a way to bring them ALL home, safe and sound—What a wonderful woman she is! His heart fills with joy that spills out into a fervent hug and sincere words of praise and appreciation for all she has done for them, for all she has done for him.

The back door whirs into life and the doors swing open. Is it Flynn Carsen, finally come back to the Library to set things right?

It isn’t Carsen. It’s the Harness, come to claim its own, come to take the enraged Library’s vengeance on those who dared to defy it. No sooner has Jenkins registered what is happening than he feels a sharp, slicing pain in his chest. With a loud cry he falls backward, hands catching him before he can hit the floor. Such blinding, all-encompassing pain! It feels like his chest is on fire! He vaguely feels himself being lifted onto the table, hears panicked voices all around him. He feels someone doing something at his back, feels another sharp pain as the dagger is removed from his heart. His _mortal_ heart. He catches a glimpse of the blade, red with his own blood, and he realizes. He is going to die. After all these centuries, he is going to die, today, in the Annex. His beloved Annex. His haven of safety for so long is now going to be the place where he finally dies. It’s a difficult idea to absorb. He feels blood running down his side, his life ebbing away.

He feels more physical pain than he feels any fear of death itself. He counts that a small mercy. Suddenly there is something covering him, a faintly musty-smelling cloth. Looking down, he lifts the edge with his hand and examines it curiously. The Shroud of Lazarus. Where had they found this? He’s been looking for it for ages...

“I found it when we were setting up for high tea,” says Cassandra in a small, quiet, fearful voice. High tea? Yes, he remembers now. The high tea. She had surprised him with a tea, all of the delicacies made by her own hands, while the others were on a mission. She wants to do something special, just for him. What a wonderful, happy day that was for him. He treasures that memory.

The Shroud eases the pain somewhat, but it will do no good against the magic of the dagger. He is still going to die, albeit a little more slowly now. Time is running out; he has so much to tell them, and so little time left. He wants to tell them all individually what they have come to mean to him, how although he had been less than thrilled with their arrival four years ago, now he can’t imagine his life without any of them in it. They need to know that, but breathing is becoming difficult now. There is no more time.

“I may have been immortal, but you all brought me to life!”

His eyes fall on Cassandra. His beautiful Cassandra. The _true_ love of his life. Love, sadness and despair engulf him as he looks up into her grief-stricken face. They have only just found each other, it’s too soon for them to be parted by death like this! He’d envisioned them together for many years to come, happy and content and in love. Oh, WHY hadn’t he accepted her offer of a date when she’d asked him a year ago? They would’ve at least had that much more time together! Now it’s too late. He grasps her forearm weakly, as though by clinging to her he can cling to this life for just a few precious seconds longer. Darkness begins to fall over his eyes, numbness filling his body. Even his chest no longer hurts, though, ironically, his heart feels as though it is shattering within him.

“Your cucumber sandwiches—they were worth dying for!” he gasps shakily, hoping to ease his beloved’s pain with a last little bit of humor. He wants his last sight of her to be of her smiling, even just a little. _They HAD been very good cucumber sandwiches_ , he thinks to himself as he slips from this life.

Oh, he isn’t ready for this! So much life he has had already, but he still isn’t ready to die! Not now! He isn’t ready to leave her, not Cassandra, not yet! No! _Please_...!

His hand falls limply from her arm as Death finally claims him

* * *

“CASSANDRA!”

Now he’s in her arms, and he’s holding onto her as if his very life depends on it. They break into sobs and weep shamelessly, not even trying to speak. As soon as he’s able, Jenkins takes Cassandra’s face between his large hands and kisses her deeply, his tears mingling with hers as their cheeks touch. He can hear Colonel Baird and Mr. Carsen struggle to keep their own emotions in check as they watch the Caretaker and the young Librarian embrace. Now the immortal understands why everyone gave him such strange, uncomfortable looks as each, in turn, looked into the lamp’s flame and recovered their own memories. He would later learn of the funeral they’d held for him, of Cassandra’s heart-wrenching breakdown, of their resignations, of Nicole’s kidnapping of Mr. Carsen, of the bleak, dystopian world she brought into being by causing the Librarians to lose faith and belief in the Library, of how Colonel Baird had once again saved them all by bringing them back to their memories of the Library, bringing them back to the Library itself and making it possible for Mr. Carsen to diffuse Miss Noone’s anger, redirect her towards aiding the Library rather than bringing it down.

Right now, however, Jenkins is focused only on Cassandra. Without looking back at the Librarian and his Guardian, the immortal excuses himself and his own beautiful, precious Librarian. He picks her up and carries her, bridal-style, through the corridors of the Annex, kissing her longingly over and over again the entire way as he carries her to their bedroom. Once the door is closed, he makes love to her, slowly, carefully, tenderly, savoring every moment, every feeling, every emotion it evokes in him. He relishes the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice, her scent, her taste. He revels in the joy it gives him to give her pleasure, the joy it gives him to receive pleasure from her. When they’re both finally sated, they lie together in their large bed, cuddled together beneath the tangled covers, tired but happy. Jenkins nuzzles the side of her head, her cheek and her ear as they whisper quietly to one another.

“I’m sorry, Jenkins,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t have opened the scroll, I shouldn’t have made Jake read it. If I hadn’t, none of... _that_ , none of it would’ve happened.” She turns her face into the pillow, ashamed. Jenkins only strokes her arm and softly kisses her shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter now, my love,” he assures her kindly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” They lie quietly for several moments.

“I’m sorry, too, my love,” he says to her contritely.

“Why?”

“Because my last words to you were about cucumber sandwiches and not about how much I love you,” he sighed. She reaches a hand back to touch his face, and he kisses her fingers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she replies, leaning back against his broad chest. “I know that’s what you meant. I’m just happy that you saved your last words for me, no matter what they were. I’m happy that I was the last thing you were thinking of when you...” She can’t bring herself to say the words, and there’s a hitch of emotion in her voice. Jenkins tightens his arms around her comfortingly and is silent for a moment.

“I’m glad that things didn’t end like... _that_ ,” he murmurs as he closes his eyes and buries his face in her soft, red locks, kisses her head. “I’m so glad Colonel Baird and Mr. Carsen were able to set things right again, that we have another chance. That we were able to recover some of the memories of that other timeline, painful though they may be.” He moves his head down to lightly kiss her neck.

“They put things into perspective, show us what is truly important in this life, what we _should_ be holding on to—“ He tightens his arms around her middle even more. “And what we should be letting go of.”

Cassandra smiles and settles herself even further into his embrace, enjoying the feel of his warm skin against hers, even as she strives to push away the memory of her utter devastation as she watched him die, as she stood in front of the urn holding his ashes. “I’m glad, too, Galahad.” There’s another long spell of silence between them.

“There’s one memory fragment in particular that especially puzzles me, though,” he says, consternation in his voice.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” The Caretaker pauses for a moment.

“What on earth are ‘sardine pants’, and why were they so tight?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. If you're a a Casskins shipper, I hope you especially enjoy this fic.


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